Ordinary
by wtfrenchtoast
Summary: A distraught and suicidal Bella is saved by handsome twentysomething bartender Edward. Can he show her that life, even at its worst, is a gift? AH/AU, lemons to come.
1. Ordinary

**Summary: A distraught and suicidal Bella is saved by twentysomething bartender Edward. Can he teach her that life, even at its worst, is a gift?  
Rating: M, for future lemons & adult themes  
Author's Note: This was a story that I had previously posted under the title One. I decided I didn't like where it was going and took it down, reworked it, and now I think I'm finally satisfied. So some parts might seem familiar, in case you're wondering.  
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Twilight or its characters. Bummer. Songs lyrics belong to Vanessa Carlton.  
**

// just a day  
just an ordinary day  
just trying to get by  
just a boy  
just an ordinary boy  
but he was looking to the sky  
and as he asked if I would come along  
I started to realize  
that everyday he finds just what he's looking for  
like a shooting star he shines  
and he said take my hand  
live while you can  
don't you see your dreams are right in the palm of your hand //

Mike broke up with me on the coldest night of the year, the frost etching itself in kaleidoscope patterns across the windshield. I held my fingertip to the glass until a small circular patch appeared, a warm place surrounded by ice. When I dropped my hand to my lap the frost covered it back up instantly.

"Well, I guess that's it."

"I guess." My voice was so hollow it practically echoed.

He gripped the steering wheel hard and his knuckles flexed white. His eyes bounced around the cabin of the tiny car, searching for something, until they fell on me. "Honestly, Bella? Can you really tell me you don't want this, too? Or that you didn't see it coming?"

Dumbly I shrugged. I'd never felt so apathetically helpless. I should care, I wanted to care – but I couldn't coax any more fight out of me. God, I couldn't even muster up the decency to cry.

"You know," he began, the bitterness seeping more and more into his voice, "When I ran into you that day and there wasn't a ring on your finger I thought I was the luckiest guy alive. Swear to God. I thought, here's my chance, you know? But I've spent the last three years trying to get you to believe that, yeah, maybe you didn't feel the way about me that I do about you, but you _could_, don't you get it? You didn't love me then but one day you'd wake up and see how much I cared about you…and it would change your mind." He shook his head, grimacing. "Looks like I owe Tyler and Nick a hundred bucks," he bit off harshly.

I closed my eyes and let my head fall against the window. I couldn't feel empathy for Mike but that didn't mean I wasn't ashamed. I had led him on. I had made empty promises. And, worst of all, I had assumed he would never figure it out. I had strung together lie after lie and now it had come all unraveled. His words clawed and ripped at me and I knew I deserved it. "Bella, this?" and he made a gesture that indicated he was referring to he and I, "What's been between you and me? It's _sick_. It's me throwing myself at you again and again and you sucking it up like some kind of demented vampire. It's fucked up and wrong and something tells me that you knew it a long time ago." His eyes, clear and blue and honest, bore into me and I thought ironically that this was the first time he had ever understood me.

I fiddled with the zipper on my coat. What could I say? He was right. "Do you hate me?" he asked softly. "Did I do something wrong? I tried so hard, Bella. Why did you let me try and try if you knew you'd never do the same for me?"

Why did he choose now to be more perceptive than I'd thought him capable? I said nothing, and even though I knew my silence only further incriminated me I felt like any explanation I could offer would just make things worse. My reasons were weak and meager. I felt weak and meager. Being with Mike – pretending to be with Mike, rather – was my last gasp for air before I disappeared under the swells and drowned completely. Without a boyfriend, however genuine, I was truly alone. No friends, no family within a thousand miles, not even a pet.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. There was little I could offer without patronizing or outright lying, but an apology was neither of those things. I had used him and that was the least he deserved.

He stared at me incredulously. Then he turned his eyes back to the windshield and I could see him clench his jaw out of the corner of my eye. "Goodbye, Bella. Good luck doing whatever it is you were doing before I came along." His voice was bitter; he wasn't even trying to hide it now.

For the first time that evening I didn't feel as though he was talking to me through a glass wall. I startled as though a bucket of cold water had been thrown on me as I realized that Mike had come around the car to open the door for me. His final attempt in a long line of unrequited advances. I knew that now was my last opportunity – if Mike left now, he'd really be gone. And I would be back to square one.

He held the door expectantly, waiting painfully for me to make my decision. His blue eyes were pinned to my brown ones, asking everything that he wouldn't say aloud and simultaneously unwilling to hear the answers.

Clumsily I reached for my purse and pulled my coat tighter around me. I stepped out of the car, feeling only shame for the way I'd treated him, for offering and then taking away. When we were nearly eye level I gently touched his arm and turned my face upward to him. "I'm sorry, Mike," I repeated solemnly. It's true. I am.

We stayed that way for a moment, and then I let go of his arm. As I strode into my building, I contemplated glancing back to see if he was still there. I didn't, though, because I knew that he was. All the way up the stairs, through my own door and into my bedroom he waited. That was Mike – always the last one to let go.

I peered down at him from my bedroom window. The streetlights cast a harsh spotlight on him, still holding open the passenger's side door, unmoving. I tried to summon up a shred of regret for Michael Newton, CPA, Jets fan, fishing extraordinaire. It only surprised me slightly when I came up empty.

What did hit me, though, was the realization that I hadn't always been this way. Somewhere I'd been gutted and stuffed, preserved to look like the real thing but frozen forever in one pose. In the short span between high school and college graduation I'd given up, and now that I was twenty-six it felt as though I'd missed an exit somewhere.

I glanced around my tiny apartment, neat as a pin but strangely antiseptic, like a hospital. No pictures. No quaint "Live, Laugh, Love" placards or shadow boxes of cute knickknacks. I didn't even have a fucking cat. It dawned on me that I had none of those things because didn't you have to have friends to have pictures of friends? Didn't you have to actually participate in living, laughing or loving before you proclaimed it on your walls via decorative plaque? I was pathetic. If I was gone, I bet nobody would even notice…

I don't know what brought it on. I hadn't cried since I was in high school and I had accidentally slammed the hood of my car on my left hand. I had heard the bones snap and the pain that followed was so all-consuming that the tears came seemingly of their own volition. But I began to sniffle and then the sobs came, wrenching and hideous and I had trouble breathing. I slid into a gelatinous pile on the linoleum and curled into a ball. It was the ugly kind of crying that left your nose dripping and breath hitching and what little makeup I wore running down my face in black rivulets.

I lay there for what felt like hours. The sobbing gradually slowed and I stared, slack and empty, at the dust bunnies gathering under my kitchen table. The apartment was dark, I hadn't bothered to turn on the lights when I came in, and the only illumination was the massive overpass bridge outside my window. Twinkling and majestic, it seemed to beckon to me.

I was sure then. Nobody would miss me. Nobody would care. It would be a tiny three-line blip in tomorrow's paper…Woman Dies in Tragic Fall. People would frown, take another sip of coffee, and move on to the sports page. There was a Jets game on tonight.

I crawled to my feet and stumbled toward the door.

Everything got kind of fuzzy after that.

What I can recall is like a slideshow, individual snapshots of closing a door here, taking a step there, brushing against a stranger's shoulder as the chill of the night air hit me. I remember the bridge, because it was bright, and shiny, and the roar of the cars drowned out everything else.

I remember the steady wave of vertigo that swept over me as the drop stretched on and on. I wasn't afraid. I was ready.

I remember gripping the railing, icy and slick, in my grubby hands.

I remember delicately placing the toe of my shoe on the first rung of the railing, trying not to slip and realizing with a degree of hysteria that it didn't matter. If I lost my footing, all the better. Then it could be truthfully labeled as an unfortunate accident.

Until a voice, warm and clear as a bell, came up behind me.

"Hey, um, you probably shouldn't do that." I was so shocked I almost fell right over the side. "Whoa! Whoa." The owner of the voice was behind me in a flash and strong hands caught my hips. "Easy there." He gently eased me off of the railing and onto my feet.

I whirled around to face my interventionist and was taken aback instantly. He was easily the most attractive man I'd ever laid eyes on, let alone spoken to. Tall, light-skinned but not pallid, wild brown hair and bright green eyes, the intensity of which was not lost at all on me. Slender yet muscular build. I actually gasped a little and took a step back, which he interpreted as alarm and backed away from me slowly, hands in the air. "Look, I just wanted to help," he explained. "I saw you on the railing, and-and I just had a feeling I knew what you were trying to do." He shrugged. "I don't know what you got going on, probably pretty rough stuff given that you were just about hurl yourself into the river at three in the morning. But maybe you should think this over, you know? I don't think it's worth your life. No matter how bad it is."

Numb from shock and a receding adrenaline rush, I blurted, "What? Who the hell are you? You don't know me."

He shrugged again, unfazed. "I don't pretend to. I don't know the first thing about you, and even if I did, I'm no shrink. I'm just a bartender, but if you ask me that's pretty much the same thing." He shoved his hands in his pockets, assuming a fairly casual stance, but his eyes stayed pinned to mine. "What I do know, though, is that hitting that water down there from this height is gonna feel like slamming into a wall of concrete. Not to mention…it's November. So, a cold, icy wall of concrete. Get what I'm saying?"

I was silent. Suddenly this whole harebrained idea didn't sound so good, but stubbornly I held my ground.

He was an island of calm. "Just think about it. That's all I'm saying. Go home and sleep on it, or something, and maybe tomorrow you'll be glad you did."

I was starting to get annoyed. I'd finally made a decision that I wouldn't regret and now some stranger was trying to talk me out of it. Of course, said decision was only un-regrettable because I wouldn't be alive to lament it, and said stranger was straight off the cover of GQ but it was the principle, dammit.

His smile was warm but oddly omniscient, like he knew he was going to win this and he was just waiting until I realized it too. "I think we both know there's nothing I can do to stop you from climbing right back up on that railing once I walk away. Unless, of course, I just don't walk away." He leaned back into the lamppost directly behind him and folded his arms across his chest. He looked at me expectantly.

I folded my arms in return, my mouth hanging open in abject shock. So we were going to play this game, were we? I pursed my lips and glared at him.

We stared each other down, the seconds stretching into minutes. He was still as a statue. I quivered with annoyance, and to my shame, embarrassment.

Finally I couldn't take it anymore and shouted, "Why are you doing this? What do you care? Just let me do this. You don't even have to feel bad when you read about it in the paper tomorrow. You don't know my name, you won't even know if it's the same person!" Why was I yelling at him? I should probably have been thanking this gorgeous stranger for preventing my life-ending swan dive, but my mind was so frenzied at that point that all I could do was bark at him.

Ignoring my outburst, he stepped forward and offered me his hand to shake. "I'm Edward. And you are…"

"Bella," I answered automatically. Dammit.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "Alright, Bella, now we know something about each other."

"So?" I grumbled. I was aware that my end of this fucked-up conversation was beginning to devolve into something a twelve-year-old might come up with. Well, minus the suicide talk.

"_So_ now I know your name. Now I'm involved. And, seeing that it's late as hell and I just wanna get home, this puts me at kind of an impasse."

"No, it doesn't," I insisted. "You can walk away anytime you want. I never asked you to butt in. In fact, I'd like you to leave. Go away. At least you can say you tried." With that I turned and reached out for the railing again. A strong hand caught my wrist and closed around it like a vise, effectively immobilizing me. I whipped my head back furiously. "Let. Go."

His green eyes blazed intensely. In his other hand was a cell phone. "I'll call the cops," he threatened, holding the phone up for me to see. "I don't want to but you're not helping me out here. Do you want that? Do you know what they'll do? They will cart you off in handcuffs to the county hospital. The ER doctors will try to figure out if you're strung out on something and when they see that you're not you'll sit there for maybe five hours until they decide what to do with you. Then once you're situated comfortably in a paper gown and slippers you'll be admitted and spend your foreseeable future in therapy. Maybe they'll let you come home for Christmas if they're in good moods." I struggled to maintain my resolve but even I had to admit that that was less than appealing. "It's your call, Bella. You get off this bridge or I'm calling."

"I think I'd rather just jump," I hissed.

Edward sighed. "You leave me no choice." He flipped open his phone and began to dial, still holding my arm in a death grip.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he pressed each button…9…1…1…and as his thumb went for the _send_ button I wrenched my arm from him. He startled and dropped the phone onto the asphalt. "Fine!" I shouted. "Congratulations. You win. I'm stepping away from the railing, okay?" I put my hands up in the universal gesture for surrender and circled around Edward until he was between myself and the side of the bridge. He watched me cautiously, and knelt down to retrieve his phone, his eyes never leaving me. He thinks I'm crazy, I realized. Great. Just add that to the long list of things wrong with my life.

He stared at me intently, his face full of concern. "Is there someone I can call for you, Bella? A family member or a friend or a…boyfriend?"

Bitterly I shook my head. "No. None of the above."

His eyes widened. "Nobody? Are you sure?" I could tell he was a little skeptical, like he thought I was too embarrassed to let anyone know what I was doing.

My gaze met his and I let it simmer there for a beat. "I'm sure," I replied in a hard voice. "There's no one."

Something like a wave of understanding passed between us then as he began to glimpse what had driven me here in the first place. Because in all his bravado he had failed to ask me the essential question – why. Why was I standing on a bridge at nearly three in the morning, preparing to climb over the railing and throw my miserable existence into the river? Why did I feel like every day was an exercise in tedium, another hurdle to be managed until I could retreat to the safety of my bed? Why couldn't I just be happy like everyone else?

The tension had drained from my and Edward's stances and now we just stood staring at each other. It seemed as though we were less at odds with one another. He let out a long, low sigh. "Look. We both know that this whole thing is gonna end with you either dead or in a straitjacket, neither of which I think you really, truly want. Now, I know this might sound a little unorthodox but…can I buy you a cup of coffee? At least so we can get out of the fucking cold. It's like negative forty out here." He laughed nervously.

I was dumbstruck. "You're asking me out for coffee?" Maybe I wasn't the crazy one after all. "Like, on a _date_ or something?"

His glare nipped that idea right in the bud. "A date? Can we just rewind through the last twenty minutes and remind ourselves what we've been doing? You are in no shape for romantic entanglements, and no offense but trying to convince you to not off yourself wasn't exactly an aphrodisiac." His tone softened. "Bella, I just think that you could use someone to talk to, because maybe if you had, you wouldn't be here right now." He shrugged, hands jammed securely in his coat pockets. "Besides, it's not like I have anywhere else to be." He was trying to be glib but it came out too morbid to be funny.

Something inside me broke then, like a guitar string that had snapped free. I realized why I was so ready to be open with this man, to lay all my insecurities out on the table for a perfect stranger: I recognized the same quiet torment in Edward that I had in myself. My desperation echoed in him and the knowing way with which he studied me, like he had been where I was. His wounds seemed less…acute, like they had long since scabbed over, but the melancholy in his soft voice indicated that they had never really healed.

The warm sincerity, the honesty in his voice touched a part of me that had forgotten what those things felt like. "Okay," I agreed quietly.

He smiled and held out his hand. Tentatively I reached out my own, and when they clasped together it was the first time in years that I felt it.

Hope.

We strolled silently for a few minutes when the silence (and my curiosity) began to gnaw at me. "So," I started, "is this something you do often? Annoy suicidal girls to the point that they'd rather kill you than themselves?"

Edward grinned, and the sunny glow of it made me smile as well. "Nah. Just the pretty ones."

It was safe to assume that his comment was for my benefit, but I gawked at him anyway. "Oh, so the baggers can take the plunge for all you care?" I joked, and giggled a bit. I couldn't believe I was actually joking, and laughing. I hoped he didn't hear the minor note of hysteria in my voice – my sense of humor was rusty.

He laughed, a deep, open kind of laugh that was nothing if not sincere. "Duh! What's the point of coaxing a girl down from a ledge if I don't want to ask her out for coffee afterward?" He winked at me. Maybe my mind was reeling from my brush with death, but I nearly passed out. The smooth velvet of his voice wasn't helping, either. He continued, unaware of my predicament, "Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you look too good to be as unhappy as you are." He must have noticed the bewildered expression on my face as I tried to interpret his comment sensibly, because he quickly added, "What I mean is, when things get…you know, really bad, people tend to stop taking care of themselves. I'm not talking forgetting to put on lipstick or cufflinks or something. Like they stop showering and getting dressed and basically turn into slugs." Edward's jade eyes looked me up and down, a gesture that would have infuriated me had it been anyone else but coming from him, it was all concern. "You don't give me that impression at all."

I dropped my head down and studied my feet as we walked, mulling over this simple observation. I guess I should have been pleased, since I didn't look distraught, or crazed. But I didn't look like anything, and that was the problem. "Yeah, this…was sort of a last-minute decision. Everything just got to be too much. But you know what's weird about it? It's nothing. Nothing was happening to me, and I couldn't – can't – handle it."

Edward chewed his lip in thought. "Too much of nothing," he neatly summed up. "Let me guess. Failed romantic relationship, lack of meaningful platonic interpersonal relationships, inability to connect with close family members, dead-end job...how am I doing, here?" He ticked off each item on his fingers.

I stared at him. "Sure you're not a shrink?"

"Nope. Not at all. Just perceptive, I guess. I'm around people a lot."

"Because you're a bartender, right?"

"Yup. I know people better than any Ivy League psychobabble bullshit could teach me. That, and I'm just plain old smart."

I chuckled. "Where do you work?"

"A few different places, the same guy owns them all so I just work where it's the busiest that night. One place is a lounge-type joint that attracts a lot of yuppies, so I work there mostly for happy hour. There's a nightclub, too, that gets pretty insane, at least enough to have a VIP. My favorite place is this total dive, though, a few blocks from my apartment. It's a hole in the wall and there's definitely something growing in the bathrooms, but the characters that go there are a riot. Really. You should come by sometime."

"Oh, I don't drink," I said, blushing. I don't know why I was embarrassed. Plenty of people abstained from alcohol. Like…nuns. And recovering alcoholics. And people who lived in dry counties. In Kentucky, or wherever they were.

Edward stopped cold in his tracks. "You don't drink?" he repeated, incredulous. "You live in this city and you don't drink? Maybe I should have let you jump. There's clearly something wrong with you." If he hadn't been grinning the entire time I would have been stung by his words. "For the love of God, woman, why?"

I shrugged sheepishly. "Don't like the taste."

He scoffed at that. "You've just never had the right one. Now you have to come by some night, Bella, I demand it. I'll make you something that'll knock you on your ass and have you begging for more."

I'll bet, I thought cheekily to myself. "Should you be forcing alcohol on someone that tried to throw herself off a bridge not twenty minutes ago?" I questioned with a raised eyebrow.

That smirk. It melted a little more of my heart (and my defenses, might I add) every time I saw it. "It ain't called 'drowning your sorrows' for nothing, sweetheart. I happen to know for a fact that the right drink can cure just about anything."

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "Anything, huh?"

"Absolutely. Can't vouch for the morning after, though. Then you're on your own." He slid a sly smile my way.

My thick winter coat suddenly felt stifling and I smiled to myself. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a conversation with someone that wasn't either work-related or mindless small talk. This back-and-forth with Edward, even though it was centered mostly on suicide, was both fun and meaningful and I was lapping it up like a kitten at a saucer of milk.

I decided to venture out a little. "Won't your girlfriend be um, upset that you're having coffee with some strange girl?"

"If there was a girlfriend to get upset, I think we'd be having a different conversation right now." He smiled warmly.

"Oh. Right," I acknowledged, trying to sound nonchalant. Truthfully, though, a tiny thrill was flying through me.

We approached a dark, smoky-looking joint that would have been better suited as a dive bar than a coffee house, and as Edward opened the heavy door for me I was assaulted by a range of different smells. Coffee, of course, but also chocolate and pencils and a myriad of other things I couldn't identify. Soft jazz music drifted throughout the cozy establishment. A few other patrons were scattered in the fray of mismatched tables and chairs. I followed Edward to a small table near the windows, where we shed our coats. I couldn't help but notice that the black t-shirt he wore clung to his well-defined biceps and the chiseled muscles of his chest weren't exactly hidden, either. The thought of spending any amount of time with Edward suddenly became much more appealing if I got to stare at his impeccable body the whole time.

"Do you know what you want, or should I surprise you?" My eyes widened at the obviously unintentional double entendre, and it occurred to me that even though I'd had sex in the past few years, it had been longer than I could remember since I'd actually wanted it. Judging from the sight of Edward's unruly bronze hair, ruggedly handsome face, and underwear-model physique, that hiatus could soon come to an end.

"Surprise me," I managed to croak out. I made a move to follow him to the counter and he waved me back to the table. I returned to my seat, an oversized wing chair with an eccentric paisley print, and watched Edward order our drinks. The sultry-looking woman waiting on him was putting on her best come-hither stare, twisting a lock of jet-black hair around her finger and smiling an awful lot for taking a coffee order.

I was pleased to observe that Edward was impervious to her parlor tricks. Once he paid he immediately turned back to me and shot me a lopsided smile. I returned it easily. Two mugs were placed at his elbow and he carried them over to our table, setting one down in front of me. "Hope you like it," he said, sliding into his chair. "It's kind of strong but you're a big girl, you can handle it." He grinned.

Warily I took a tiny sip and gave him a look that plainly said _Really?_ "This is hot chocolate!" I cried.

Edward laughed heartily. "The look on your face was worth it. Besides, I like hot chocolate, and it's close to four in the morning. Caffeine's the last thing anybody needs at this hour." He drew a long sip from his mug. "So," he began, and I knew he wanted to get down to business. My heart sank – for one fleeting second I had allowed myself to fantasize that Edward and I were just two regular people having coffee together, enjoying one another's company.

"So," I grumbled. Suddenly I wanted to clam myself up like a bear trap.

He folded his hands around his coffee cup, and just sat there, staring gently at me. He didn't say a word. I began to shift uncomfortably, glancing around at anything but him, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. Was this some kind of medieval torture method or something? I glared at him but he just continued with the silent treatment.

A minute passed. Finally his incessant staring got to me and I gave in. I asked him with annoyance still evident in my voice, "Have you ever had fish?"

A blank look passed over his face. "Have I ever had fish? Like eaten fish? Or kept them as pets?"

"I mean, did you ever have a goldfish when you were a kid? Kept it in a bowl and all that?"

He was giving me this odd look like I had just asked him who was buried in Grant's tomb. "Yeah, I think I had one or two when I was in elementary school. Why?"

"I had one when I was eleven. My dad won it for me at a town carnival that summer. I brought it home and put it in this nice fishbowl we bought, with little blue rocks on the bottom and plastic plants and a figurine shaped like a deep-sea diver. And I thought he looked so happy – he had everything he needed, everything I thought a goldfish could want. I fed him the same time every day. After a week or so he would even come up to the surface of the water when I brought out the jar of food. I thought he looked so happy. And then one day he was floating at the top of the fishbowl. He lived for a good six months."

Now Edward probably did think I was crazy. "Bella, I'm having a hard time believing that you tried to kill yourself because your goldfish kicked the bucket. Please explain to me what you're getting at here."

I pursed my lips. "I know this sounds really lame, but I feel like a fish in bowl. I have everything I need to keep myself alive and mildly entertained, but I watch everyone else go about their lives and find happiness and I just can't seem to do that for myself. I go through the motions but it's just a façade. My boyfriend broke up with me tonight." Edward's mouth dropped open a bit, and I could see the beginnings of a consolation on his lips but I continued before he could finish it. The words came easier now, almost of their own volition. "We were together for three years. He told me tonight he was leaving and you know what's so fucked up? I don't even care. He looked me in the eye and practically begged me to tell him to stay and I blew him off. And that was kind of the last straw, you know? The last alarm in my head to go off that something was seriously wrong with me. I don't have any close friends because it's too much work. I loathe the idea of sitting around a martini bar gossiping about men and hair and other women because I think it's stupid and inane, but that's what women my age do. None of my family lives within a thousand miles of this place and even if they did, I'm not close to any of them. My job…that's the only thing I do have, isn't that sad? It's the dullest, most boring thing in the world and it's the best part of my life." I bit back tears of bitterness and frustration. "I don't even feel like a person, because I can't feel anything at all, Edward. Nothing affects me. Cute babies, train wrecks, love songs – those things are supposed to elicit feelings, right? Because if that's the case then I might as well be dead anyway." I winced at the fact that the words had poured out so easily and uncensored.

Instead of balking at my impromptu confession, which I had expected, Edward had his hands clasped and was resting his chin on them, gazing at me gently. His eyes were positively mesmerizing – I could spend hours just basking in them. He continued to study me, and I took it as a suggestion to go on. "And you know what makes me feel worse? Because it's not really that bad. I should probably be on my knees thanking God that I have a good career and my health and all that. But…it's just not enough, I guess."

"Whoever said it had to be?" he countered lightly. He stirred his hot chocolate thoughtfully. "The fact that you're not broke and not dying of cancer doesn't take away your right to be dissatisfied with your life. Some people live their entire lives in mediocrity and they're completely okay with it. You aren't, and that by itself says something about you. I don't know, Bella, I'm not exactly the person you should be taking advice on life from, but I do know a few things." He leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Tell me about your ex-boyfriend."

I shrugged uncomfortably. "He was a friend from back home."

"Where's home?" he interjected.

"Washington," I answered. "A little town called Forks. Anyway, Mike and I went to high school together, and I came here for college. After graduation I stayed because I got a job in an investment firm. I ran into Mike three years ago at a grocery store, and it turned out that we'd both gone to the same college and never even known it. He works for an accounting firm that partners with my company."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven," Edward commented wryly. "You guys spend steamy summer nights crunching each other's numbers?"

I chuckled and threw my napkin at him. "Funny. You come up with that one all by yourself?"

"I'm nothing if not original. Go on."

I paused, the smile fading from my face as I began to recall my disastrous relationship. "Mike doesn't deserve the way we ended things. He's a good guy – attentive, and caring and all kinds of things most girls would be falling all over themselves for. I just felt like – and this is going to make me sound like a terrible person – I felt like he was below me. I don't know, it's like every time I thought we were finally going to be able to connect, that maybe we really could be on the same wavelength, he'd say something or do something that would remind me that that would never happen. So I never opened myself up to him. And, see, a normal healthy functional person would have ended that whole nasty situation right away. But me? I let it drag on for three years because I didn't want to be alone. It's pathetic."

I glanced up, sure I was going to see disgust twisting Edward's handsome features, but I was relieved to find nothing of the sort. "You wouldn't be the first person in the history of the world to stay with someone because you're lonely, Bella. And while it wasn't the noblest reason, it sure isn't the worst."

I smiled grimly. "No, but it was the only reason, and that's not fair either. And maybe I wouldn't have let it go on so long if I had other people in my life. But it all just seems like so much work. I know that sounds ridiculous, but people just seem so self-absorbed, you know? I went to lunch with a girl from work once and all she did was talk my ear off about her boyfriend and her roommate and her stupid fucking cat. And it makes me think that people don't want friends so much as they want a fucking scratching posts. Something to blow off steam on." As my words became more heated I found myself clenching my fists and my face reddening, and I had to take a couple of deep breaths. "Which is, evidently, exactly what I'm doing with you. I'm sorry," I exhaled.

"Don't apologize," Edward insisted. "As a scratchee, I can't exactly say that I mind."

I wondered how he knew exactly what to say to stop my cycle of vicious self-flagellation. He was like a circuit breaker, cutting off the power supply when things got to be too much. "I guess I just realized tonight how empty my life is, and how pretty much all of it is my fault. I cut myself off. I held back. And now I've been alive for twenty-six years with absolutely nothing to show for it." I broke into a shrill half-laugh that sounded more like a bark. "So, yeah, saddest story in the entire fucking universe, right? This is probably the part where you tell me to quit complaining and suck it up like everyone else."

Edward scowled a bit, and for one anxious moment I thought he really was going to tell me to get over it. "No. Nothing could be further from the truth. Why do you constantly assume that I'm going to think the worst of you?"

Because you should, I thought to myself. Because I am a weak, insignificant person that deserves to be unhappy. Those words had become habitual in my mind, a constant mantra that sat on my shoulder like a pet monkey. But here, in this intimate coffee shop with probably the most beautiful and intriguing person I had ever met, they rang a little hollow. It was a new feeling, and I marveled at it.

Edward chewed his lip before continuing. "Bella, forgive me for being forward when we know so little about each other, but I think you are beautiful, and intelligent and stubborn as hell. Among a lot of other things." He grinned. "And before you go throwing that all away, I think you owe it to yourself to make a real effort at making some changes in your life. You're a good person, Bella. Contrary to what you might think, the world needs more people like you."

The sincerity in his voice brought tears to my eyes, and I hastily blinked them back. I realized sadly that in just a short while, he and I would part ways and it was very possible that our paths would never cross again.

Unless we wanted them to.

* * *

**Gee, look at that lonely review button at the bottom…**

**We'll get to hear Edward's story soon enough, I just wanted to get some framework down for the rest of the story. Thanks for reading!!!**


	2. I'm Not as Think as You Drunk I Am

**Hope you enjoyed the first chapter! Thanks for all the reviews, too, they've been so encouraging. Please feel free to let me know what you think!  
Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own jack. I do, however, have a month's supply of diapers and a small collection of mismatched socks if you're interested. **

* * *

The life of a certified financial planner consists of paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork, with the occasional interlude of paperwork. I had been in banking since I had finished college, freshly graduated with my American Literature degree in hand. I had realized within a few months that the likelihood of finding a decent job with my credentials was about as probable as winning the lottery. Less, in fact. More like winning the lottery while simultaneously being struck by lightning. After my student loans starting rolling in I panicked and applied virtually everywhere within a ten-mile radius, and four years later I was working for one of the largest investment firms in New York. An impressive achievement for some, but for me it was just more work.

Not that it had to be that way. My coworkers, several of them in their mid-twenties like me, had invited me out a few times in the beginning to have drinks after work. I never said yes. After a few weeks they stopped asking, and I began my ritual of ignoring anyone with whom I wasn't directly required to communicate.

Monday morning started early. I was meeting with a brand-new client at eight sharp, an entrepreneur by the name of James Laurent that owned several commercial properties downtown. He had net quite a profit over the past couple of the years and wanted to discuss the best way to invest a good chunk of it. My boss was ecstatic when the client had shown interest in our firm – he was worth well over twenty million. I, on the other hand, was terrified when he handed me the portfolio.

"Carlisle," I had stammered, "don't get me wrong, I'm really flattered that you think so highly of me, but are you sure that I'm the best person to–"

"Bella," he interrupted. He leaned back in his formidable leather desk chair and clasped his hands behind his head casually. "I know you're nervous. This is a big fish." Carlisle always referred to our clients as "big fish" or "little fish." Big fish were our high-rollers – people with more money than they knew what do with, while little fish were smaller investors that the firm could take or leave. I had worked mostly with the little fish, waiting for Carlisle to toss me a big one, but I had never expected this. "I wouldn't have assigned this one to you if I didn't think you could handle it. Besides, you've got to get your feet wet eventually, and I have a feeling the two of you will get along just fine."

That was a week ago. I'd taken some comfort in Carlisle's confidence in me, but today I was shaking like a leaf. When my office phone rang to inform me that Mr. Laurent had arrived I nearly went into cardiac arrest. I stood up, smoothed out my pencil skirt and went into the lobby to meet my new client.

The receptionist, Emily, noticed me in the doorway and called out, "Mr. Laurent? Bella will see you now." A tall, dark-haired man with olive skin and blue eyes rose from one of the armchairs and strode across the expansive lobby to meet me. I was stunned; not only was he exceedingly handsome in a powerful and virile way, he was much younger than I had expected. Forty would have been a stretch but not impossible.

"Miss Swan?" He stopped a courteous couple of feet away and held out his hand. "It's a pleasure." His pale blue eyes were unnervingly striking. I found myself a little dizzy.

"Likewise," I replied as I took his hand and shook it firmly, trying not to let on how starstruck I was. I glanced down at his other hand that hung at his side. No wedding band. I found myself unmoved, surprisingly, using that tidbit of information as more of a clue as to how this meeting would proceed. From his looks and the way he oozed self-assurance, it would be safe to assume that this man was accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it.

I led him back through the maze of hallways and meeting rooms, feeling his eyes on me the entire time, until we reached a small conference room. He set his briefcase on the round table as I gathered together the paperwork I had prepared for him. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I offered.

"No, thanks, I believe everything I need is in here." The playful edge to his voice was faint but present nonetheless.

I froze, my back still facing him. I whirled around. Was he really trying to…and then I noticed his hand on his briefcase. He was referring to his briefcase. Of course. Get a grip, Bella. I let out a tiny sigh of relief and we both settled down at the table.

The rest of the meeting went off mostly without a hitch. I learned that James, who insisted I call him by his first name, owned six restaurants and three bars in the city that had really taken off recently, which was impressive given the economic conditions. We discussed his options as far as investment products and I gave him the names of several colleagues that could assist him with other aspects of his businesses. The meeting spanned no more than an hour or so, and as we were packing up I said casually, "What're the names of the bars you own? I might have to go check them out sometime." I had no plans on following through, but it wouldn't hurt to throw it out there anyway. Plenty of people in the office did the happy hour thing and they could probably use a new watering hole.

James paused thoughtfully, and let his eyes roam shamelessly over me. I felt the warmth of a blush creep into my face. "Well, for a pretty thing like you, Lux would be the perfect spot. Or if a nightclub's not your cup of tea then there's the Green Room – lounge-type place, good for happy hours. The other one…well, let's just say it's a little less polished. You probably wouldn't care much for it." He smirked. "If you plan on coming out some night give me a call, I'll make sure you're taken care of." He handed me his card, which he had handwritten his cell number along with his office line. Our eyes met and a flash of something like hunger flickered in his. My mouth went dry, and it took every ounce of my mental faculties to walk him out to the lobby and see him off politely.

Once I was sure he was out of the building I retreated to the quiet refuge of my office. My heart was pounding in my ears as I tried to make sense of what had transpired between me and my new client. Was I imagining the lingering looks, the double entendres? I reran the encounter in my mind and decided that I was safe in my assumptions, that James Laurent was indeed a dominating and aggressive person, which I had surmised upon meeting him. But he was much, much smarter than the average bear – he threw innuendoes and mixed signals that could be taken either as an advance or a friendly gesture. If the receiving party took it as an invitation, so be it, but he always covered his tracks if the situation swung the other way.

I quickly squashed even the faintest hint of any possibilities between James and I – he was first and foremost my client. Even if I had been attracted to him nothing more than a professional relationship was kosher. And the more I thought about it, I wasn't exactly attracted – more like astonished. Like how electric eels stun their prey before devouring it. The hungry glint in his eye flashed through my mind.

And then something else rang through my thoughts. James owned three bars – a club, a lounge, and a…what had he called it? A total dive…but it wasn't James that had said that…

If a lightbulb could have lit over my head, at that moment I could have illuminated the entire city for an full day.

James owned the bars where Edward worked. James was Edward's boss. I was sure of it.

A thrill ran down my spine when I thought of Edward. It had only been a few days since our…whatever you'd call it…and I admitted to myself that the idea of seeing him again was so attractive it was practically magnetic.

I took a long sip from my coffee cup, suddenly wishing it was hot chocolate, and unconsciously my thoughts drifted back to Saturday night. Vibrant green eyes, a wicked smirk, and the velvety texture of Edward's voice…

"Bella?"

I snapped out of my daydream like I'd just heard a gunshot. Angela Weber, a newbie in the human resources department, was leaning against the doorway of my office with a folder in her hand. "Hi!" I greeted just a little too loudly. "Sorry, I just…I need more coffee. What's up?"

"That James Laurent – he's a dreamboat, isn't he? Wish it was me that got to cozy up to him for an hour." She smiled wryly.

My insides twisted. "Um, yeah," I agreed halfheartedly. I gestured to the folder she held, eager to change the subject. "What's that there?"

"It's open enrollment time for the insurance benefits. Just thought I'd come by and see if you wanted to make any changes."

"Oh, right. I think I'm all set. Thanks, Angela, I appreciate it."

Angela nodded and turned to leave. I gulped, and thought to myself that it was now or never. "Wait – Ang? What do you have going on this weekend?"

She stopped and chewed her lip for a moment. I knew she was hesitating; it was unheard of for me to socialize with anyone I worked with. "Uh, you know, just laundry and grocery shopping. The usual. What's going on?"

I took a deep breath. I could do this. "Do you wanna go out Saturday night? I know this great club, and I think it would be a lot of fun. What do you say?" Once the words were out of my mouth I tensed, completely prepared for her to stammer out a rejection and run off.

To my surprise a pleased look came over her face. "Sure, Bella. I'd love to."

"Great! Well, I guess we'll figure out all the details later. And I'll drop this off after lunch." I held up the folder. We exchanged smiles and she headed back toward the elevator.

Once she was out of earshot I retrieved my trusty paper bag from the bottom drawer of my desk and heaved a few breaths in and out.

An e-mail the next morning was from Angela asking if she could bring her friend Jessica from accounting. I wrote back that that was fine, the more the merrier, and my excitement began to build as Saturday approached. I was anxious about seeing Edward – it was almost certain that he would be working at Lux on Saturday, since he said that he worked wherever it was the busiest on any given night. It seemed reasonable to expect that he'd be there.

As I prepared to meet with another client, my mind wandered through a slew of possible scenarios with Edward. Would he be pleased to see me? Annoyed? Creeped out that I managed to track him down? When our night at the coffee shop had drawn to a close there had been no whimsical promises of a reunion, no long dramatic goodbye. Edward had simply put his hand on my shoulder and told me to take care of myself. He hadn't offered me his phone number or dropped any kind of hints that indicated that he wanted to see me again. Which, I supposed, made sense given my less-than-reliable mental state at the time.

I seriously began to consider calling the whole thing off. The vast array of unknown and unpredictable factors was terrifying, and the possibility that I could show up and be rejected by Edward was just too much for me. Plus I didn't even own anything I could wear to a nightclub – my taste in clothing was plain and conservative at best, frumpy at its worst. Trends were something to be balked at or ignored. Not to mention that a bar wasn't exactly ideal for someone with a distaste for all things alcoholic…

An e-mail notification popped up on my desktop. I opened my messages and saw a new e-mail from Angela. "Can't wait for Saturday! Meet at your place at nine?" I slumped a little in my desk chair. I couldn't very well back out now, not when she was so excited. Resignedly I typed back a quick reply, adding a note at the end asking if I could borrow an outfit since we looked to be about the same size.

It looked as though I would be seeing Edward that weekend, whether either of us wanted it or not.

* * *

My eyes flitted back and forth between the paper in my hand and the elegantly scripted neon sign hanging over the door. This can't be right. It couldn't be.

But, it was. Lux. 1440 Jefferson Avenue. The street sign at the corner said Jefferson Avenue, and the sign over the door said…Lux. So, yeah. We were here.

"Bella? Is this a joke?" Angela intoned from behind me. "Don't you know what this place is?"

My choked silence was all the answer she needed. I, who was one episode of _Antique Roadshow_ away from becoming a full-blown recluse, was completely unaware that this was one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. It wasn't hard to figure out, though. At least ten bouncers milled around outside, and there wasn't even a line of people waiting, because there was clearly no point. If you had to wait at all, you weren't qualified for entry.

Jessica and Angela stood behind me and neither of them said anything. My eyes skittered about awkwardly – I had dragged them all the way here and now I felt like an asshole. "Bella? You do realize that there's no way in hell we're actually going to be able to go _in_, right?"

"I-I know someone," I stuttered. "Someone who works here." And the owner, but I didn't really want to get into that. At a place like this everyone and their brother was going to claim that they knew the owner if it meant they could get in. I suddenly felt very small.

Jessica raised her eyebrows skeptically. "This bar?" she pointed at the door, "They don't even have a VIP section. Because the whole damn place is VIP. We're lucky we're even allowed to stand this close to the door. They probably think we're paparazzi or something. Or just crazy." She rolled her eyes and did a poor job of disguising her annoyance, if she was trying to hide it at all. "Let's go, Bella. We'll find somewhere else to hang out."

My cheeks burned. I should have known this was a bad idea. Maybe this was fate's way of telling me that some things were just best left alone. Close the book on Edward and appreciate our encounter for what it was.

I sighed and took one long last look at the bright, glowing sign over the door. I had to admit, I was disappointed. Jessica and Angela had taken it upon themselves to "girl-ify" me, as they called it, and gotten me all dolled up. Heels, skinny jeans, sparkly top, the whole nine yards. My hair…I don't even know if there was a name for what they'd constructed my hair into, a voluminous mass of waves and curls and these annoying bang things I kept pushing out of my eyes. I'd stood there like a mannequin, letting them run wild and silently reminding myself that this must be what it's like to have _friends_. And, thankfully, nobody had pulled up next to me and asked me how much I charged so I couldn't have looked too tacky.

A long, low breath escaped me. Better this way, I thought. Jessica and Angela were already a few steps ahead of me, discussing our next destination. Jess was insisting on stopping at a lounge a few blocks over, but Angela was convinced that was the same bar that her ex-boyfriend liked to frequent so she was-

"Hey! You ladies wanna come in? Stay awhile?"

All three of us whipped our heads around toward the playful, gruff voice that called out from behind us. It was a bouncer, a light-skinned man with biceps the size of tree trunks and a military-style buzz cut. He was grinning and my insides twisted uncomfortably at the sheer smarminess of it. "Come on back. I don't see why we can't squeeze in a few pretty chickadees like you. Ain't_ that_ busy tonight." He was lying. I could see from the street that the place was crammed like a sardine can.

We glanced at each other and hesitatingly took a few steps toward the door. The girls' attitudes toward the bar had instantly switched from distaste to glee as they realized that it was no longer unattainable. We approached slowly, as if the bouncer might change his mind and send us packing. Instead he unhooked the velvet rope and gestured us in. "After you," the bouncer winked at me. As I passed him I caught a nauseating whiff of cigarettes, and I managed to smile at him as I clumsily inched my way into the club, Jess and Ang close behind me.

If tonight's crowd constituted an _ain't that busy_ night, I did not want to come near the place when it was a full house. It was so packed that the entire club looked like one coherent sea of bobbing heads, punctuated by strobe lights and colored spotlights darting every which way. The steady pounding of the bass reverberated from speakers the size of small houses. Two balconies overlooked the throng of dancers, and even those were practically overrun with people. I finally understood the appeal of places like this – it was all too easy to lose yourself when so much energy was flowing about.

"Oh my God!" squealed Jessica, so piercing that I had no trouble picking out her voice over the deafening music. "Is that…oh my God. Angela, look! Over there! That's Dan! I was _engaged_ to him! Wait – who the hell is that hussy he's dancing with?! What a whore! Come with me, I want to know who this bitch thinks she's fooling, she better bring those fake-ass tits back and ask for a refund…" She dragged Angela away, hell-bent on getting a better look.

I didn't know who the hell she was talking about, and it didn't matter if she'd just told me she'd spotted Tom Cruise. My eyes were pinned to the bar, which was illuminated entirely in blacklight. I searched desperately, my heart pounding into my ears and threatening to bust through my ribcage.

My breath caught in my throat as I found my prize. He stood at least half a head taller than everyone else, and the glint of the club lights glittered in his dark eyes. The elation melted off of me, though, as soon as I took in the entirety of the scene.

Edward, wearing a tight black t-shirt that showed off his impressive musculature, was behind the bar, serving a gaggle of women that was clustered tightly around him, clearly ogling his muscles and flashing smiles his way. I watched helplessly as he poured a group of shots and the girls cheered. He laughed with them. Then the whole group, Edward included, tossed back the shots as if they were water. Unconsciously I inched toward them, oblivious to the writhing bodies that stood in my way. As I got closer I heard one of girls yell, "Victoria, what are you doing? You can't out-drink a bartender!"

A statuesque blonde with the longest legs I'd ever seen tossed her hair back and smirked. "Wanna bet?" she challenged her friend, a shorter girl with dark, bobbed hair and hips the size of Missouri.

She shrugged. "Your funeral," she shouted back. "I'm not dragging your ass back home when you're so hammered you're drooling!"

The blonde gave her a wry smile. "No problem," she answered wryly. "I bet _he_ will." She tossed her head toward Edward, who only raised his eyebrows at her and smirked, just like I'd remembered…

I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown over me. Suddenly I felt so much like a fool I could cry. This wasn't me – Bella Swan did not wear heels, did not wear makeup, and did not follow men to nightclubs on a crazy misguided whim. This was a grownup's world and I was a child.

My eyes grew hot with tears as I burned with shame. I wanted to run, to turn on my four-inch silver heel and bolt out the door – but I could only stay planted where I was, unable to tear my eyes away from the blonde witch whose hair I wanted to rip from its roots. Edward was pouring them another round of shots, reserving one for himself. He glanced up quickly, and his gaze met mine in one electric second. Recognition flooded into his eyes and he held the downturned bottle in place for a beat too long, letting the shot glass he was filling overflow.

"Hey! I think that one's full, honey," called the blonde, reaching out and grabbing his elbow to turn the bottle upright. Her long fingernails made contact with his sinewy arm and it was just too much for me. I turned and hurriedly made my way through the crowd. I needed air. I needed a cigarette, even though I didn't smoke. Hell, I needed a fucking drink. But that clearly wasn't going to happen. Not here, anyway.

Distraught, I shoved people twice my size out of my warpath and only when I ran smack into someone was I forced to stop. "Well, look who decided to come out and play! I gotta tell you, Bella, you look like a million bucks in the office but you outdid yourself tonight."

At the mention of my name I snapped my head up. It was James Laurent, wickedly sexy in a black button-down and gray dress pants. An amused smile came over his face. "Who are you here with?"

"A-a couple of girls from work," I stammered, shouting to be heard over the din.

He nodded in acknowledgment. "You should come join me back at my table. There's always room for a few pretty ladies. Can I get you a drink?"

"She's fine. Had a little too much, actually. I'll take it from here," Edward's warm voice cut in and the part of me that wanted to flee stopped dead in its tracks.

James eyed Edward carefully. The two were nearly identical in height but the deadpan seriousness in Edward's stare made him seem more formidable. They locked eyes for one tense moment before James' posture relaxed and he smiled. "Oh, you two know each other? Who would've guessed." I could see Edward seething, and I just stood there like a moron, unable to speak. "Well, Miss Swan, you know where to find me." He winked and disappeared into the crowd.

Edward turned to me, the weight of his stare heavy. He looked every bit as incredible as I remembered, carelessly sexy and completely unpretentious. The disco lights and strobe made it difficult to see his expression clearly and I hoped he wasn't displeased at seeing me. "Believe me when I say that this is really the last place on earth I expected to see you." It was impossible to tell whether this pleased him or not. His eyes traveled up and down my body, taking in my outfit and my beast of a hairstyle. "Safe to say you didn't dress yourself?" His brow arched in inquiry.

I shook my head sheepishly. "Well, that asshole was right about one thing. You look beautiful." He didn't look at me when he spoke, but that couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face.

"Really?" I might have been flirting, or trying to flirt, and I felt ridiculous.

"Yeah. Really," he agreed. His expression turned dark. "How do you know James?"

"He's a client of mine. My firm handles his investments. He told me that this was one of the places he owned, and I thought I'd come by and check it out. For the firm, I mean. To make sure it's a safe endeavor." Right. And if he believed that one I had a bridge I could sell him.

He studied me for a moment, but if he knew I was lying through my teeth he kept it to himself. "Be careful around him, Bella," he warned. "He's a big, spoiled kid under all those expensive clothes and Ferraris. He's not used to people telling him no. I'd hate to see you on the wrong end of that."

"I can take care of myself," I argued. For some reason I didn't like where this conversation was going.

He held up his hands in the universal gesture for surrender. "I know you can," he reassured me. "I'm just telling you, the guy's a fucking predator."

"He's not the only one," I mumbled as my eyes drifted past him to the gaggle of cougars still clustered at the bar. The blonde Barbie kept glancing back at us, a scowl twisting on her heavily painted face.

Edward's his eyes narrowed and suspicion clouded his finely chiseled features. He glanced over his shoulder and the blonde waggled her artificial fingernails – claws, more like – at him, grinning a sickeningly sweet smile. I wanted to throw up. When he turned back to me he was rolling his eyes. "Oh, them? The Real Housewives of Upstate New York? They're here every week, trying to recapture their glory days or something. It's pretty sad, actually. Why, you jealous?" he jibed. He was kidding, obviously, but…maybe I was.

"Of the Botox queens? I think not," I answered with a chuckle. I noticed over his shoulder that a pretty female bartender had approached the group but she was quickly dismissed. It was clear that they were waiting for Edward, and only Edward.

He ran a hand through his wild bronze hair. "Look, I gotta get back, this is the busiest night of the week and if I don't get these animals some booze there's gonna be a riot."

"Right. We don't want that," I agreed awkwardly. I was disappointed, although I knew I shouldn't be – he was at work. Him ignoring the bar would be like me forgetting to meet with a client.

"Bella!" a piercing voice shrieked, and I was almost knocked over by the force of Jessica and Angela barreling into me. Once I had righted myself and regained the air that had been knocked out my lungs I began to introduce them to Edward. "Jess, Angela, this is my…friend, Edward–"

"Bella oh my God did you know that James Laurent was here? He bought us drinks and oh my God he is so gorgeous and he was asking for you, Bella! He's got this special section back by the DJ booth and we should go back there like right now!" Jessica was practically jumping up and down. Angela just rolled her eyes. "She can smell money a mile away," she whispered conspiratorially to me.

"Bella! Come on! He told us to make sure we bring you back with us!" Jessica demanded. He was asking for me? I hesitated; gorgeous or not, he did give me the heebie-jeebies and I had no doubt that everything Edward had said about him was true. On the other hand, James Laurent was a very valuable client. Placating him would be in the best interests of the firm – and my job. Which was the least pathetic thing in my miserable existence, and I couldn't afford to jeopardize it.

My eyes ticked over to Edward, who had a stern expression on his face. "Be careful, Bella. I mean it. Remember what I told you." He turned and stalked back to the bar, which was awash with thirsty patrons.

"Let's go!" My arm was clutched in a death grip as Jessica dragged me through the masses of people. When we reached James' booth, the meaning of twenty million dollars really hit me for the first time. The curved seat was upholstered with some luxurious fabric that probably cost more than my yearly salary and took up half of the back wall. James sat in the center of at least fifteen people, a mixture of powerful-looking men and beautiful women. I wondered not for the first time what he could possibly want from me when he had Victoria's Secret models littered around him like spare change.

James' eyes fell on me and he smiled. I got the feeling that he knew I would show up eventually, it was just a matter of when. "There she is," he called out. "The lady of the hour. Everybody, this is Bella Swan. She's my financial advisor. She's gonna be telling me where to throw my money from now on." He smirked.

"Tell him to put it where his mouth is," piped up a smarmy-looking guy in a black suit to James' left. "You've been saying we're gonna hit the casinos for a month now."

"Shut up, Max. You're just worried your wife will spend all your play money before you can get there. Not my problem." His eyes never left me the entire time he spoke. "Have a seat, ladies. Would you like something to drink?"

"I don't–" I began at exactly the same time that Jessica practically shouted, "Sure!"

"Great," James replied. "I think I have just the thing in mind." A minute or so later a tray was set down on the low table in front of us by a long, muscular arm. I glanced up to see that the arm belonged to Edward, and I jumped a little. He gave me a knowing smile before heading back to the bar.

The three of us each picked up a glass and I paused, trying to rack my brain for a last-ditch excuse to avoid having to actually drink. "Cheers," I said weakly as I took a tiny sip of the mysterious liquid and braced myself for what I was sure to be a repulsive taste. Instead, something creamy and raspberry-flavored filled my mouth. It was delightful. I didn't even know it was there was alcohol involved until after I'd swallowed and the aftertaste reminded me, and even then it was gentle. I finished the glass in one long gulp and smiled sheepishly. "That was…"

"Amazing, right? I call that one the Multiple Orgasm," James finished, grinning. I blushed furiously. "Secret recipe. It's exclusive to Lux." He spread his arms wide to indicate the entire bar, and he asked with bravado, "So, what do you think, Miss Swan? Am I a safe investment?" Something in his lilting tone was telling me that found all this to be endlessly amusing – that he was watching me the way a cat watches a mouse.

I smiled nervously. "So far so good," I answered. The alcohol was creeping through my system, warming me and I began to feel a little less self-conscious.

Another tray arrived less than a minute later. The waitstaff was keeping such a good eye on our group that it seemed like James had a telepathic connection to the bar. Bottoms up, I thought to myself as I picked up my second drink of the night. It was every bit as good as the first and I had the glass empty in the matter of a minute.

The world began to take on a dreamy quality, like I was seeing everything underwater. The conversations around me became less noticeable, and I began to really relax for the first time that night. Maybe a drink or so every now and then wouldn't be so bad.

Yet another glass was thrust into my hands, and then another, and I accepted them without much thought. Every time I glanced up at James his eyes were glued to me, and it unnerved me a little. Jessica's giggles and enthusiastic responses to virtually everything James said were getting progressively louder as she got drunker. Angela was on my other side engaged in what looked like an intimate conversation with one of James' buddies. His hand was on her knee, and I decided now was a good time for a bathroom break. I stood, wobbling slightly, and announced that I would be right back. Carefully I negotiated my way around the booth and out next to the dance floor.

I had gotten nearly all the way to the bar before I realized that I had no idea where the bathrooms actually were. People were moving all around, bumping into me as they made their way past, and suddenly I felt very confused. Where was I going again?

"Bella." Edward's voice poured into my ear like a salve; I immediately turned toward the sound. "Are you okay?" He took both of my shoulders into his strong hands. "Bella?"

"Edward!" The world was starting to slide from dreamy to fuzzy, and I was having a hard time standing still on my own.

"Son of a bitch. That lousy bastard…I knew this would happen," I heard him mutter. "Doesn't help that you're a fucking lightweight, either." He slid an arm around my waist and led me to the bar. I planted my hands firmly on it, confident that if I attempted anything else I would keel over.

Edward stepped behind the bar and grabbed a glass. I watched as with practiced ease he poured something clear and ominously innocent-looking into it and handed it to me. "It's water, Bella. Drink it. I'll be right back, try to stay out of trouble. And by that I mean just don't move."

Okay. Not moving…I could handle that. I drank the water in two easy gulps and the glass tumbled from my hand, crashing to the floor. I cringed, but nobody even noticed. Thankfully Edward reappeared holding his coat. "Come on," he urged as he took my arm. "I'm taking you home."

"We're going home?" I parroted as Edward led me purposefully through the crowds and out the front door. "Did I do something bad?"

"No, honey," he reassured me. The bite of the frigid November cold was startling, and Edward wrapped his thick coat around my shoulders. We walked briskly through the parking lot and stopped in front of a silver Volvo. Edward opened the passenger door for me and I tried to get in gracefully but ended up just sort of tumbling inside. He left my door open.

"Now Bella, I want you to tell me the truth." He was in the driver's side in a flash and buckling his seat belt. "Do you need to throw up?"

"What?" I asked, bewildered. "Why would I need to–" And then I found out why he'd left my door open.

When I was finished I wiped my mouth and closed the door. Edward didn't say a word, just turned the key in the ignition and the engine came to life. "Can you tell me how to get to your place?"

"It's on Monroe Avenue, near the Starbucks," I mumbled. My head was swimming and the inside of the car was spinning like a top.

He nodded and began to back the car out of the parking space. I was asleep before he switched gears.

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**I heart reviews like Bella loves those Multiple Orgasms. Yum. **


	3. In Vino Veritas

**Chapter Summary: A very inebriated Bella is escorted home by Edward, whose intentions are good but, as they say, in wine there is truth…**

**Rating: M**

**Author's Note: Thanks again for the reviews! I'm glad to see that people are enjoying this story and I'm not just spinning my wheels. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I figured I'd post this part now and the rest later. Things heat up a bit in this chapter thanks to Bella's recent acquaintance with Bailey's and raspberry liqueur. Yum…**

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EPOV

I'd acted rashly. I knew that. I let my emotions take over and there'd be hell to pay tomorrow.

But, really, what was I supposed to do? Let her stumble around the bar until she either passed out somewhere or some Neanderthal dragged her by her hair back to his cave? No. I thought of James then, and my anger boiled hotter. God knew what he wanted with her, but knowing his pattern with women it wouldn't have been good.

The whole thing added up to one big fucking mess. I'd walked out on the job on the busiest night of the week while cockblocking my boss – if I had been trying to destroy my life I couldn't have planned a better scenario.

My mind worked furiously, struggling to come up with a solution that could save my ass and consequently, my job. It was only twelve-thirty. Bella only lived maybe five minutes away from Lux. If I got her home and raced back here I could just pretend I was taking a smoke break and maybe nobody would notice I was gone in the first place. Of course, that story was only plausible if I didn't have a vehement opposition to smoking, which I did. And virtually all of my coworkers knew it.

By the time I found Bella's apartment building I had come up empty for excuses, aside from claiming I'd been roofied and kidnapped by the Mafia. I parked as close to the door as I could, but since it was the middle of the night there were few open spots. Bella had been snoring loudly practically since I started the car and waking her up was an effort. I ended up just hoisting her out of the passenger's seat and carrying her bridal-style to the main door.

The list of occupants by the front door that accompanied the call buttons for each apartment listed Bella as residing in number twenty-one. I staggered up the short flight of stairs with her dead weight in my arms, juggling her purse and keys, and somehow managed to open her door without dropping her like a sack of potatoes. I set her down as gently as I could on the her sofa, massaging my biceps. She wasn't heavy by any means, but the stairs didn't do either of us any favors. She made a tiny mewing noise and rolled onto her side…right onto the floor.

The heavy thud startled her awake. I rushed to her side and rolled her onto her back "Dammit, Bella. Are you okay?" A pained groan escaped her. I couldn't just leave her on the floor, so I picked her up gingerly and carried her from the living room down the short hallway, poking into each room until I found her bedroom. I plunked her down in the center of her bed, amid her tangled sheets and comforter. She crawled ungracefully under her pale blue blanket. I took a deep breath and said a little too loudly, "All right, well, you're home, you're safe, so that's…y'know, good, and I'm just gonna get you a glass of water and be on my way."

A bleary eye opened and regarded me with displeasure. "You're leaving?"

I scratched my head. "Uh, yeah, I really gotta get back–"

"Don't go. Stay. Here." She flung her slender arm out onto the pillow beside her. "Please?" Her voice had a high-pitched, playful quality in it that was new to me.

I sighed, warring internally between the proverbial rock and hard place. My ass would be skinned alive if I didn't haul it back to the bar. And God knows I needed that job. But Bella was tanked, borderlining on blacked out, and leaving her by herself was absolutely out of the question. With resignation I said, "All right. I'll be on the couch if you need me." With that I turned to make my grand exit.

"No," she called in a singsong voice. I paused. "Here with me, silly."

A pin could have dropped somewhere on the Eastern seaboard and I would've heard it. Bella had wriggled out of her top and jeans and was sprawled out languidly on the bedspread. Clad in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties, the kind that covered everything but what they should be covering, she was the sum total of every wet dream I'd ever had. Magnified by a million. I couldn't tear my eyes away if my life depended on it.

I was frozen in her doorway, caught in a tug-of-war. The Neanderthal in me was cheering me on like a rabid cheesehead at a Packers game. The Boy Scout side, though, was reminding me that she was so drunk she could barely walk, and any funny business under that condition wasn't kosher.

Slowly, as if any sudden movement would break the spell, I crossed the room in a few easy strides and approached her bed. My eyes drifted indulgently across her exquisite form, lingering over the smooth plane of her stomach, the creamy pallor of her skin, the gentle curve of her hips. I realized that she was more than just hot; she was beautiful. It was enough just to be close to her. For tonight, at least.

I took a deep breath. I could do this. I could sleep next to her and keep my hands (and other appendages) to myself. It was going to be torture, but oh, baby, it was gonna hurt so good.

"Well," I began slowly, "As long as you promise not to take advantage of me. I've been hurt before, you know." The glassy look in her eyes indicated that my humor was lost on her. I yanked my shirt over my head, unbuttoned my jeans and let them both drop to the floor. Bella was lying back on her pillow but when she saw me approach she propped herself up on her elbows. My eyes nearly bugged out of my head – the way her breasts jutted out, straining against the lace of that evil, evil bra…it was absolutely magnetic. I couldn't help it, I was hard as a rock.

I slid in next to her, careful to put at least a foot of space between us; I didn't need to scare the shit out of her with the monster in my shorts. Rolling onto my stomach, I buried my face into the pillow. It smelled like her hair, of strawberries.

The next thing I knew Bella was snuggled up against my side, flush against me, and any hope I had of my erection fading away was lost. "Cold," she murmured into my shoulder. Yeah, I bet you are, I thought with a chuckle. This was the equivalent of the old yawn-and-stretch.

She inched closer, my bicep wedging itself between her breasts and her knee sliding over the back of my thigh. I could feel her warmth against my leg. Gulp. This was going to be a long night.

"Cold, Edward," she reiterated. "Warm me up?" Bella rubbed herself against me and I groaned into the pillow. With one eye I snuck a glance at her, and a dark patch on the comforter caught my attention. It was her black lace panties. She had kicked them off, which meant she was basically naked under the covers with me.

It was official, I was no longer human. I was ball of nerves and testosterone and instinct.

Bella was tugging relentlessly on my arm, trying to get me to roll over. I obliged. We were sharing a bed, I couldn't exactly hide from her. At least that's what I told myself. Soft, slender fingers slid across my chest as she wrapped her arm around me, snuggling herself closer. Her leg was curling itself around mine, painfully close to my erection and I prayed she was drunk enough not to notice it. A sobering wave of shame washed over me as I realized that I was so turned on by Bella because I liked her. Not just in a hit-and-run way that was all lust and no substance, but I actually _liked_ her. I enjoyed her company and her quirky clumsiness and her courage for trying new things. It was for these reasons that I couldn't allow anything to happen tonight, much to my cock's chagrin.

Bella shifted, and at this point I probably should have just gotten up and slept on the couch. Removed the temptation. But I just couldn't do it. As much as every molecule in my body wanted to give in to my baser instincts, a bigger part just wanted to be near her.

I rolled onto my side and snaked my arms around her slender frame, pulling her tightly into a spoon position. My nose burrowed into her hair and I kissed the top of her head. "Good night, Bella."

When I woke the next morning it was to the unmistakable sound of retching coming from down the hall. I heard the toilet flush, a bout of coughing, and the pained groan that only the truly hungover could emit. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and groggily rolled out of bed. I pulled my jeans on, ran a hand through my hair which probably only served to muss it up further, and headed down the hallway to assess the damage.

Bella was sprawled out on the bathroom floor, head resting against the blue tile wall. The look on her face was pure misery. When her half-open eyes fell upon me they flew open, suddenly conscious of the fact that she was still clad in just her underwear. "Uh – I'll be right back," I sputtered and hurried back into the bedroom to fetch a blanket. Images from the previous night when she was practically naked and rubbing herself on me came rushing back, and I had to take a few deep breaths and run baseball stats through my head to keep myself in check. When I returned to the bathroom I turned my face back into the hallway and tossed the blanket to her.

"Thanks," she croaked pathetically as she wrapped herself in it. I stepped into the bathroom and sat opposite her against the bathtub. For a moment we marinated in silence, reflecting on the peculiar positions we now found ourselves in.

"I'd ask how you were feeling, but I think that would be just plain insulting," I commented dryly.

She grunted a reply. "My everything hurts," she grumbled. "Like I got run over by a train. And a bus. And a fucking Concorde." As if on cue she suddenly leaned over the toilet bowl and emptied her stomach once again. When she reemerged she wiped her mouth sheepishly. "Sorry."

I shrugged casually. "No big deal. Bartender, remember? Takes a lot more than a little puke to faze me." It was true. Few things gave me a run for my money nowadays.

She didn't look comforted. "If this is what happens every time I go out and have a little fun then count me out."

"Nah. Only when you have too much fun." If looks could kill, the glare I got for that comment would've put me six feet under.

"So stupid," she muttered, and it was clear by her tone that she wasn't talking to me. "That's what I get for going out on a limb. Now I'm gonna be sick all freaking day. I should've just stayed home…"

Listening to her berate herself was like watching a car wreck in slow motion. I could see the damage escalate and for the first time I began to see why she had been so inclined to end her own life. "Bella!" I interrupted forcefully. "No. Stop it. I see what you're doing and it's ridiculous. You went out and you had fun. That asswipe James shouldn't have force-fed you all that booze, granted, but you're okay now. You should be proud of yourself, don't you see that? You did something you weren't one hundred percent comfortable with. Yes, you could have stayed home with your stamp collection and had a perfectly satisfying night. Yes, maybe today you wouldn't feel like you got your ass handed to you. But you'd also have been feeding into exactly the same pattern that led you to think that suicide was a good idea…do you see where I'm going with this?" She winced. I hated that I had to go there but I was trying to prove a point. I softened my tone; I didn't want her to think that I was chastising her when I was just trying to make her feel better. "All I'm saying is…don't be so hard on yourself. A couple Advil, a lot of water, and some breakfast and you'll be good as new." I offered her my hand and pulled her to her feet. "Now, food's probably the last thing on your mind, but trust me, you'll feel better when you put something decent in your stomach. How about I make you something?"

The protest was on Bella's face before she even opened her mouth. "Edward, no. You've already done so much–"

I held up my hand in a halting gesture. "Then what's the big deal if I fry you a couple of eggs? Come on." I began to lead her into the hallway.

She resisted, and tugged the blanket tighter around her body. "All right," she relented, "but let me make myself decent, at least." She squeezed past me and disappeared into the bedroom, and I heard her rummaging around for a minute. When she reemerged she wore a slim-fitting blue tank top and a pair of low-riding gray sweatpants. My eyes swept appreciatively across her slender form, and I marveled that she could make such a plain getup look so sexy. I followed her into the kitchen, willing my eyes to focus somewhere other than the tantalizing curve of her ass.

Bella collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, resting her head unceremoniously on her arms. Her eyes watched me intently as I began to poke through her cupboards. I located a frying pan and placed it on the stove. As it warmed up I glanced back at her; a worried expression had come over her face. "I get the feeling you want to say something," I said evenly as I pulled eggs from the refrigerator.

"I do," she replied hesitantly. A beat passed before she continued. "I don't want to…assume anything, but last night, did we…?"

Warning bells sounded off in my head as I frantically tried to decide how much to tell her. No. We hadn't fucked. That would answer her question. But she woke up basically naked next to a guy who, incidentally, was also basically naked…a one-word answer wouldn't be enough. I set down the spatula I was beating the eggs with and gripped the counter with both hands. I didn't turn around while I spoke. "We didn't have sex, Bella." An audible sigh of relief whooshed behind me. "How much do you remember?"

"Getting in the car with you. And…waking up this morning."

So, none of the good parts. This was going to be sticky. "We didn't have sex," I reiterated, "but, let's just say that you're a friendly drunk. Okay?" I resumed beating the eggs and poured them into the hot skillet. The pan hissed loudly, filling the tense silence that fell between us.

"A friendly drunk? What do you mean?" Her voice was wary, and I knew it was too much to hope that she'd be satisfied with my vagueness.

With resignation I recounted the events of the previous night for Bella, keeping the details to a minimum but I couldn't withhold everything. I kept myself busy with preparing breakfast the entire time – I just couldn't bring myself to watch her reaction, knowing full well what it would be. When I was finished, I had two eggs, two slices of buttered toast, and two pieces of bacon on a plate, which I placed in front of Bella. Dejectedly she slid the plate away, and it was obvious that her appetite had vanished.

I took a seat opposite her and pushed the plate back in front of her. "Eat," I encouraged.

She shook her head. "I can't believe I acted like that. I don't remember a thing." Her huge brown eyes were wrought with shame as she turned them on me. "You must think I'm…actually, I can't imagine what you think of me right now. I'm so sorry, Edward."

I reached across the table for her hand. It was warm, the skin smooth and creamy, and it nearly disappeared into mine. It unnerved me a little as I realized that I could crave this kind of touch as much as the carnal variety. "Don't be mad at yourself. Please. No harm done. You're not a skank, and besides, I'm not exactly complaining – it's not every day that beautiful girls invite me to spend the night with them." I smirked, trying to lighten the mood some.

The blush that spread across her cheeks and chest made her look radiant as a shy smile warmed her face. She picked up her fork and took a bite of scrambled egg. "This is really good," she said after she had swallowed. "Thank you."

"No problem." I got up and filled a tall glass with water, setting it down in front of he. She finished it in a few large gulps.

"So, this is twice now that you've been my knight in shining armor," she mused after a few more bites of egg and bacon. She gave me a wry smile. "I feel like I should be paying you or something."

At the mention of pay I squirmed; I still hadn't given much thought to how I would wriggle out of my situation with work. I didn't regret my decisions in the least, but I was a little apprehensive. It was fast becoming a pattern where Bella was concerned that I would act first, think later, and now I might be out of a job. The thought made me nauseous. What terrified me more was that I'd been more than willing to throw it all away so easily. "You know, I should probably get going. It's almost eleven and I got a shit ton of things to get done today." On a Sunday, because anywhere that I'd need to go would be open today and not tomorrow. Right. It was a lame excuse, but I had to get out and clear my head.

Hastily I stood up. Bella's eyes met mine; she couldn't hide the confusion that I saw in them. "I hope you feel better," I said lamely. It was such a pedestrian thing to say. I knew I was throwing her for a loop but suddenly I just felt so suffocated. I exited the kitchen into the living room and grabbed my coat off the floor.

My hand was on the doorknob when I paused, sensing Bella behind me. "I'm sorry," I murmured softly. "I just need to…I need to think. When I'm with you I feel like I can't." The knob turned with a click. Cool air rushed in from the hallway and it reminded me that the real world was out there, where everything had balance and sense and priority.

What came out of Bella's mouth was the last thing I expected to hear at that moment. "Can I see you again?" she asked almost breathlessly, like she was trying to spit the words out before she had too much time to think them through. It was a feeling we both could share.

"Of course," I answered without hesitation. If I was sure of nothing else (which wasn't far from the truth at that moment) I was certain that I wanted to see Bella again, despite all my misgivings. I heard the sounds of her rifling through her purse behind me, and a small business card was tucked into my other hand. I knew what she was trying to say: it was my turn to come and find her. When I was ready.

I curled my fingers around the card, and with one quick motion I was out the door and gone.

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**So? Did you like it? I love reviews like I love using alcohol for an excuse to act ridic…**


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